


i'm gonna be the one that comes back home to you

by GuiltyAdonis



Series: Tarberry Tea [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Institute Questline spoilers, also i renamed dogmeat astro because dogmeat is a terrible name this is a hill i will DIE ON, i'm so bad at romance don't look at me, will i ever stop naming my fics with song lyrics? the answer is no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuiltyAdonis/pseuds/GuiltyAdonis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah left for the Institute four days ago. Nick... is coping. Or, in which Valentine and the Survivor are the most clueless detectives in the Commonwealth, and Glory didn't sign up for this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm gonna be the one that comes back home to you

**Author's Note:**

> i'm pretty sure everyone and their mother has written their own variation of 'sole & valentine finally stop being dumbasses about How They Feel' but you know what?? that's still not enough. it will NEVER be enough.
> 
> Glory is with them because reasons. shhhhh. sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh just let it happen ssssshhhhhh

Valentine stalks back and forth across the skyscraper's lobby with his hands linked behind his back, silent except for the occasional whir of his troubled thoughts. Glory endures it for an hour before throwing her hands into the air with an exaggerated sigh.

"Are you really gonna pace the whole time?"

"Yes," he says, not glancing up or breaking stride.

Glory sighs again and rolls her eyes. "Well, at least you're quiet." She reaches out absently to scratch Astro's floppy ear. The dog, for his part, doesn't react. Only an occasional mournful sigh indicates that he's even alive at all. It's less aggravating than the eight hours of uninterrupted whining that immediately followed Whisper's departure for the Institute, but just as depressing.

"She's been gone for four days," Nick says, still pacing.

"Oh, here we go."

"What if she's hurt? What if they've got her prisoner somewhere, interrogating her? How would we even know? How—"

" _Valentine_ ," says Glory. Nick huffs and shuts up, but maddeningly continues his quest to wear a hole in the lobby's already desiccated floor. Glory rubs at the bridge of her nose, absently cursing the Institute yet again for giving her the ability to develop a headache. "C'm _on_ , give the girl more credit. She survived the Commonwealth for two weeks on her own before she met you, and that was without any experience whatsoever. The two of you crossed the Glowing Sea, for shit's sake. You really think she'll go down that easily?"

Valentine fiddles with a loose screw in the hinge of his exposed wrist. It's a nervous habit of his, and it drives Glory crazy. She offered to get him hooked into a Gen Three platform the first time she caught him doing it, but both he and Whisper stared at her like she'd suggested dancing naked in the Commons, so she'd let the matter drop.

"No, 'course not," he says at length. "I just wish—"

"—You'd worked up the guts to tell her how you really feel?" She's hoping for offense, or indignation, or at least mild reproach, but is thoroughly disappointed.

"Yes," Nick says levelly, meeting her eyes cross the campfire. She scoffs and shakes her head.

"So? Why didn't you?"

"I—" He stops. Glares at her, this time. Fidgets again with the screw in his wrist, then with the fraying cuff of his coat. "I didn't want to wreck what we had. She's a good partner, and young, and _human_ , and I'm...." This time when he trails off he doesn't start back up again.

" _Oh_ my _God_ ," Glory groans, rocking backwards on the upturned crate that she's been using as a makeshift chair. She's not usually one to play matchmaker, or even give a shit about what people do in their personal lives at all, but she's had to put up with this crap for almost a month now and it is absolutely infuriating. "Literally everyone has been able see how sappy you two are for each other since the day you walked into HQ. It's actually almost sweet. In a sad, ridiculous sort of way."

"You—What, really?" Nick's voice starts out offended but quickly turns pathetically hopeful. Glory wants to grab him and shake him until his stupid hat falls off. If this is what passes for a brilliant detective in Diamond City, then she's really glad she's never been there.

"For shit's sake, man," she says again, because she can't think of anything better. "Yes, really. Deacon even started a betting pool as to when the two of you would stop being _total idiots_ about it."

Valentine groans and covers his eyes with his good hand. "Did he."

"Something like four hundred caps riding on the outcome, last I checked." Glory couldn't have stopped the smugness with which the statement came out even if she'd wanted to. Nick lowers his hand long enough to side-eye her suspiciously.

"What about you?"

She snorts. "Please. I've got better things to do than waste my caps on the tragic love story of the two thickest skulls in the Commonwealth."

Nick glares venom at her, but she can tell it's more or less good-natured. "Gee, thanks," he grumbles.

Glory smirks right back at him. "Anytime."

* * *

It's early the next morning when a muted crack echoes through the tall steel canyon that encloses their little camp. At first Nick thinks it's just the building shifting, or the _Constitution_ above them, or gunfire in the distance, but then it comes again: a hollow, fuzzy sound not unlike the strange thunder that accompanies radstorms. He stands, skeletal fingers dipping into his coat to close surreptitiously around the grip of the .44 that Sarah gave him. Glory went out a quarter-hour or so ago to scavenge more wood for their fire, taking both Astro and her minigun with her; now would certainly be the optimal time for raiders or Supers or Gunners or _whoever_ to attack.

The crack sounds again, and then a third time. Amidst a hissing shower of blue-white sparks, a figure materializes just outside the skyscraper's lobby and staggers slightly before catching itself against the nearby remains of a concrete divider. Nick ducks back behind the reception counter; he doesn't think Coursers are ever unsteady, but they're not the only threat the Institute's got up its sleeves, and he doesn't want to tangle with whatever it is until he's gotten a better look. Cautiously, he peers around the corner.

Wild dark curls, battered combat boots, heavy black rifle, thick overcoat draped over one arm. Sarah.

...Probably.

Nick freezes halfway across the lobby and meets her eyes. She looks even more worn-down than she did the last time he saw her—was it really less than a week ago? Her eyes are rimmed with red, as if she's been crying, but the grin that lights up her face when she sees him is wide and bright and brings out the dimples in her freckled cheeks. He doesn't think it would occur to the Institute to include such a detail, but—

"Mine is in the shop," she says, the corners of her eyes crinkling up and her head tipping to one side as her smile turns wry. Nothing made by the Institute would be able to read him half so well, even with Sarah's memories, and it certainly wouldn't know just how reassuring that particular phrase would be.

Before he can stop himself, Nick's closed the distance between them and pulled her into a tight embrace. Later, he might try and chalk it up to a glitch, a memory-access error or a skip in his core reasoning processes, but right now all he can think is she's back, she's _safe_ , she's all right, and so when she looks up at him with his name on her lips, he curls a finger under her chin and pulls her into a kiss.

There isn't really any expectation, any thought behind the action other than sheer, blind relief; if there had been one, it probably wouldn't have been Sarah emitting a slightly exasperated-sounding moan even as she shoved herself up onto her toes to better kiss him back.

Nick flounders for a few seconds in surprise, uncertain about what he's supposed to do next, until instinct and old memory take over. His left hand tangles into the mess of curls at the back of her neck, the skeletal right coming to rest delicately at her waist. She hums happily in response and twines her arms around his neck, so that must have been the right thing to do. When they break apart a few seconds later, she's flushed bright pink and breathing a little raggedly. Nick stares down at her, dazed, while she smiles dazzlingly up at him; he gives her a wry smile of his own and is leaning back down to kiss her again when—

"It's about goddamn time!"

Nick and Sarah both jerk their heads up in unison, just in time to see Glory standing in the archway with her hands on her hips and an expression of insufferable satisfaction plastered across her face. He opens his mouth to make a snide comment, but before he can decide on something suitably biting, a force like a mini-nuke slams into his knees. Sarah takes the brunt of the blow and loses her balance, grabbing his shoulder in an ultimately futile attempt to right herself; then they're both on the ground with their arms full of ninety pounds of violently-wriggling dog.

"Oh—Hey, buddy!" Sarah's laugh is a few octaves higher than normal, dangerously close to a giggle. She wrangles Astro more or less off of her, though not before he's given her face a thorough washing in between intermittent whines.

"I can't decide which of them was more pathetic without you," Glory remarks lightly, picking her way across the upheaved linoleum towards them. She offers Sarah a hand and pulls her to her feet, then does the same for Nick. "So, spill. What did you find out about your boy?"

An abrupt swell of gratitude for the other synth rises in Valentine's chest. He'd been half-expecting Glory to immediately start up with an interrogation about the Institute's nature: its defenses, its personnel, its potential weaknesses. He supposes he should've given her more credit; it was unfair to assume that her single-mindedness regarding the plight of their people would lead to a lack of compassion for the plights of others.

Sarah, though, loses her smile immediately. The shadows under her eyes seem to grow even darker, more bruise-like. She hugs her coat to her chest as if it will bring her comfort. "We were too late," she says. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible. "It wasn't ten years. It was... it was sixty." She swallows hard, staring into the middle distance. "The boy that Kellogg had was a synth. A _project_." This time she spits the word out, and Valentine is shocked to hear a tinge of hatred at the edges of her voice. He reaches out tentatively, suddenly unsure where they stand but still desperate to provide whatever comfort he can. He's seen her furious, seen her grieving, seen her pushed past the edge of exhaustion; but never before has he seen her looking quite so vulnerable.

"Sarah...."

She laughs, a hollow, bitter, mirthless sound. "You wanna know the worst of it? They call him 'Father'. It's him, Glory. _He's_ the director of the Institute. They took my baby and turned him into the... the _monster_ that throws your people away like trash."

"Ah, shit, Whisper, I'm—I'm real sorry." Glory raises her hands halfway and lowers them again. She's always been rough, prickly, and it's clear she's at a loss. "We don't have to talk about this yet, I shouldn't've, I mean—"

"It's okay! It's okay." Sarah laughs again, wild-eyed. "It's fine. I'm gonna kill him, but it's fine. You know? I have to. He's evil, that's all there is to it. Evil. He's evil."

"C'mon, Sarah," Nick says helplessly. He almost tells her not to say such things, that once she's had some time they can think about this properly, but how hypocritical of him would that be? Isn't he the one who held a dead man's grudge for over a century? Right now, the best he can do is just be there for her. He owes her that much at the barest of minimums. He touches her shoulder gingerly, still uncertain, still not quite convinced that whatever interest she indicated could possibly be real. Sarah turns, leaning into the contact for a moment and then burying her face in his chest, her fingers digging into his back with a desperate strength.

"I'm gonna go, uh, secure the perimeter," Glory says, clearing her throat awkwardly. She whistles for Astro, but the shepherd is still plastered against the backs of Sarah's legs as if Wonderglued there, letting out tiny little whines, so she waves a dismissive hand and leaves him to it. Nick tightens his arms around Sarah's shoulders and she stays there, not crying but simply shaking silently with her face pressed into his collar.

Finally her fingers relax and she straightens up and pulls away, shaking her hair out of her eyes with a deep sigh. Her eyes are red, but dry, and a mask of calm has settled over her expression. Any trace of weakness has been wiped away. "I'm all right."

Nick raises a wry eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Well, no, but I will be. I'm coping, is a better word. Thanks." She runs a hand through her hair, utterly failing to make it any less messy, and gives him a tired smile. "You want to know what the weirdest part of all of this is? He looks _just_ like Nate's dad. I keep getting the urge to call him 'sir'. Like he's gonna scold me for leaving my drink on the coffee table without a coaster or something."

Nate. Right. Nick didn't think about that part. Sarah must see the change in his expression, because she rolls her eyes and punches him lightly in the shoulder. "So. 'Pathetic', huh?"

The change of subject isn't the most graceful, but Nick isn't about to press her. He holds up his hands in mock defensiveness. "Hey, I'm not the one who cried for eight hours straight."

"Did he really?" She folds her arms and looks down at Astro, who immediately redoubles his effort to become one with her legs. "Ugh, you've been just fine without me before, you big baby." The dog whines again, raising dust with the furious beating of his tail, and she rubs his ears affectionately. "Yeah, yeah." She glances back up, raising her eyebrows when she catches Nick smiling softly at her. "So, uh. What happens now?"

"Well, we really should report back to Desdemona sooner rather than later...."

Sarah gives him a look. He knows better than to bullshit a lawyer, he really does, but he couldn't help it. He used to be better at this; or, at least, the old Nick used to be better at this. He shrugs helplessly. "What do you _want_ to happen?"

Sarah just continues to stare flatly at him. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"What 'what'? Was me throwing myself at you _unclear_ somehow?"

"I just thought...." Nick doesn't know exactly what he thought. _I thought you'd want someone younger. I thought you'd want a_ person _. I thought you'd want someone who actually deserved you...._

Maybe he really is breaking down, because it's becoming increasingly difficult to speak. "I mean... just look at me," he says.

Sarah rolls her eyes, punches his shoulder again, and then grabs his tie and hauls him down to her.

One thing to be said for her: she doesn't do things by half measures, she never has. She kisses him like she's starving, clutching the front of his shirt as her other arm snakes back around his neck. Her hair smells like the lemon soap she was so excited about finding untouched in the back of Cambridge Laundry, and her eyes are the exact color of the prewar sky. Nick doesn't dream, at least not in the way that humans do, yet it still seems as if he's dreamed about this every day since they stood in the sunrise outside Andrew Station and finally, finally laid the old Valentine's ghost to rest.

Finally she pulls away, pressing her forehead against his briefly before stepping back. Her smile has returned, shy but full of mischief, and her fingers are still linked with his. "Well, Mr. Valentine, you sure do know how to give a girl a warm welcome."

It takes him several seconds to spin back up to speed. "I, uh...."

Sarah tosses her hair and cackles. "Feeling particularly eloquent today, aren't we?"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, doll."

"Mm, 'doll', I like that." She releases his hand in favor of looping her arm through his, resting her head against his shoulder. "Feels like this has been a long time coming."

"Yeah?" God, he's in deep. He's still not entirely convinced this isn't all some final hallucination as his circuits fry for good, but he'll take what he can get.

"Yeah," Sarah says. "I really—"

But he doesn't get to hear what she really, because a rapid burst of gunfire echoes from somewhere nearby, followed by a series of increasingly creative expletives and a guttural yell that can only have come from a Super Mutant. Sarah straightens and claps a hand to her forehead, eyes widening. "Shit, I forgot about Glory!"

"Never a dull moment, is there?"

Sarah stretches up to kiss his cheek, flashing that fierce, fearless grin that always leaves him breathless—figuratively speaking—and unslings her rifle over her shoulder. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

 

 


End file.
